space monkeys
by i AM the Random Idiot
Summary: for loren — we were all promised we’d be movie gods and rock stars. but we won’t. ;;christmas request o1


**space monkeys**

for loren — we were all promised we'd be movie gods and rock stars. but we won't. ;;christmas request o1

(a/n) The first (done, that is) of my Christmas requests! This one is for **xxlovelycollision**, who requested a crazy fusion of Ouran and Fight Club.

(disclaimer) Ouran is owned by Bisco Hatori and LaLa. Fight Club is owned by the great and mighty Chuck Palahniuk, and some publishing company.

* * *

"The first rule of Host Club is..." the first redhead said, wrapping an arm around the stranger's shoulders.

"You don't talk about Host Club," the second finished, bringing his opposite arm around from the other side.

The dark one smiled without warmth from his standing position next to the only chair, adjusting his glasses. "The second rule of Host Club is," he said delicately, "you _don't_ talk about Host Club."

"Third," the tall one said, arms folded, "One member per client." He glanced sideways and amended, "with the exception of the twins."

"Number four!" The head of a small blonde popped up over the tall one's shoulder. "You host the client for as long as they ask!"

The student in the aforementioned only chair stirred, raising his eyes dramatically from his seated position (which recalled Rodin's _The Thinker_). "And the fifth and final rule..." he began with theatric pause, uncrossing his legs and rising to his full height. He raised a hand, pointing with one impressive finger at the stranger, blue eyes penetrating and intense beneath his head of sun-gold hair. "If this is your first night hosting, you _must_ host one client."

The stranger, unkempt and disheveled though he was, did not seem impressed at all. "Why?" he asked, in a voice that fit him yet, somehow, struck a strange tone to their ears, making it seem like some vital fact was missing in their mental catalogue of his traits. "Why the secrecy?"

"Ouran Academy banned all clubs seven years ago—"

"Due to the annual complaints of many influential parents about their children not making enough friends—"

"Being excluded—"

"Not to mention the great expense of organization and supervision," the twins said in tandem, their words blending almost seamlessly.

"So I, Suoh Tamaki," the blonde dramatic one said, flinging an arm spectacularly wide, "said to myself, is this fair? Is it right that we, the children of the wealthy and powerful, should be forbidden from expressing ourselves in whatever form we please? Our parents are out poisoning our oceans and buying our leaders and maintaining the status quo, and what are we doing? We're shut up in this school, being trained like space monkeys to do what they want us to do. Push a button. Pull a lever. Keep the house of cards upright."

"Here he goes," one of the twins said, rolling his eyes.

Tamaki bounded up to the stranger, eyes wide and pleading, "You're a commoner. I know you. You're Fujioka Haruhi, the scholarship student."

"C-Common—?" Haruhi sputtered, but Tamaki ran him over.

"You know, then. You're right up close to it, the squalor, the hopeless despair, the advertising and the materialism whirling all around you. Our parents promise people that they'll all be movie gods and rock stars—but they _won't_." He took a deep breath.

"Tama-chaaaan!" The tiny, four-year-old wannabe jumped up onto Tamaki's shoulders. "We all know the speech by heart, too! Can I say some of it?"

Tamaki sputtered, but the dark one with glasses smiled up at them. "Of course you may, Hunny-_sempai_. Tamaki's merely hogging the spotlight to be impressive."

Tamaki dashed over to a corner and curled up, sulking. "Is this guy really for real?" Haruhi muttered under his breath.

"When you're an average male living in today's world, your father is your model for God," Hunny said, his bright and cheery voice sucking all the drama out of his words. "If your father bails, if he's never home, if he never sees you of talks to you or tells you he loves you, what does that say about—"

"It says that God is a middle-aged crossdresser who works in a transsexual bar," Haruhi sighed, "and I don't have time for your little nihilistic rebel club. I just wanted a quiet place to study."

Tamaki sprung from his corner. "You can't leave! You didn't even hear the rest of it! It's really good—"

"You cannibalized most of it from some obscure American novel," the dark one said, adjusting his glasses again, "and this was the dumbest theme we've ever done."

"But _Kyouya_," one of the twins complained, "Ouran really _did_ ban all clubs."

"And we really _do_ want to upset the status quo and make our parents notice us," the other piped in.

"And now that Haruhi knows our secret," Tamaki declared, flinging an accusing finger in his direction, "he must join the club and keep it, or risk the wrath of the rich and powerful!"

"This wouldn't have happened if you didn't tell him the secret in the first place," the tall one said.

"Silence, Mori-_sempai_!" Tamaki said. "How about it, Fujioka?"

"I don't know what I'm getting into," Haruhi sighed, "but I know one thing. You are _all_ space monkeys."

"That's the spirit!" Tamaki beamed.

**.owari.**


End file.
